


no one mourns the wicked

by karatam



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karatam/pseuds/karatam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were not always monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one mourns the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> written for 'the girl on fire' ficathon

**The Beginning**

She is the youngest of five children, the first daughter.

Her father is a Victor (it is always capitalized here). His eyes are hard, his hands callused, his skin scarred. His sons have all disappointed him, more content to work in their mother’s guild than with him at the Center.

She is his pride and joy, the apple of his eye.

Her father is her trainer when she is chosen at the age of eleven, He pushes her hard, harder than she wants to go – she is still so young, he thinks – but he wants, needs, her to be the best. He needs her to be able to win. He needs her to be able to come back home.

She is the youngest of five children – they call her the baby – the first daughter.

They name her Glimmer.

/

His older brother takes him to visit the Centre for the first time the week after he turns eight.

It’s huge and bright and shining in the very centre of the district. Acres of land surround it on all sides, filled with booby traps just like those in the Games. A fireball rises out of the forest to his left. There is a faint scream.

Boys and girls older than him march in step towards the main doors to the centre, weapons of all kinds strapped to their bodies, gleaming in the sun.

He watches in awe, eyes wide and taking everything in. This is so different from his own home, where everything is dark and dirty. His family has never produced a Victor, not on either side of the tree.

“Just wait, Marvel, I’ll change that this year.” Bright is tall and handsome and strong, just what the district wants him to be.

Bright volunteers at the Reaping the next week.

Marvel never sees his brother again.

/

There are always bruises on her skin.

She’s better at hiding them than she used to be, back when her teachers and friends would stare before turning away.

Her mother has a taste for strong whiskey and a twisted anger in her heart.

This is why she whispers thanks to the air when her test scores come in. Top of the class, destined to be shipped off next year to the other side of the district, to train with the ten other girls her age who were selected.

The sky is clear and the sun is bright when she steps onto the train. Her mother is nowhere in sight.

Her father had named her Clove, before he died and left her. She never forgave him for that.

/

He is always the best. At everything he does, at every sport he played, he is always the best. He doesn’t even have to try very hard, it all comes naturally.

There is a wall at home with all of his medals and trophies lined up, polished and gleaming. His mother likes keeping them clean for whenever people come over. Her son is always the best.

When the test scores come in, his parents don’t say a word, even when he throws himself on them for a hug. His mother doesn’t smile much after that day and his father always looks like he’s in pain.

As the train pulls away, his parents wave goodbye from the station, a handkerchief fluttering in the wind.

 

**The Middle**

She is chosen as the District 1 Tribute almost immediately. There are older girls, but there are no girls as good as her.

Her father gins proudly and claps her on the back when the announcement is made. She looks up at him and smiles; all their hard work has paid off.

She smiles from the stage, blonde hair falling in her eyes just so. Everybody loves her.

/

There is a vote. Him versus Flash. It should be no contest – he beat Flash nearly to a pulp last month with his bare hands. But Flash is almost as good looking as Finnick Odair, and Marvel knows enough to realize that looks matter.

When the result of the vote is announced, Marvel steps onto the stage, letting the muscles of his arms ripple in a way that has the crowd roaring in approval.

/

She wins the District 2 competition without almost any effort.

The ten girls who first set out for the academy five years ago have been whittled down to four and now to one.

Clove wipes her blade off on her pant leg and tucks it back into her sleeve. She always has another knife hidden away.

She smiles for the camera and a drop of blood trails down her cheek.

/

He grabs the boy’s jaw and after a twist and a jerk, drops him to the ground.

The air is burning in his lungs – the boy could run like a deer – and his legs feel like jelly, but Cato stands firm.

The camera zooms in close on his face and he keeps that scowl firmly in place.

 

**The End**

As the tracker jackers swarm the Tributes on screen, the camera dips and twirls causing much of the audience to flinch.

Her father’s eyes stay fixed to the screen as his fingers dig into the flesh of his thighs. As the camera focuses in on her body, he stands jerkily, his chair screeching back against the tiled floor. He grabs his sword – he won his Games with it – and walks out the door and into the forest.

Her mother drops her head into her hands and weeps.

Their daughter is not coming home.

/

His mother closes her eyes as the arrow enters his body. His father is at work, away from a screen.

She stands and walks over to the wall where the pictures of her sons hang. Their faces smile back at her, Bright and Marvel.

Her family is gone, destroyed by the Games.

/

The sickening crunch that accompanies her death is broadcasted into an empty room.

Empty bottles litter the floor and an unmoving body lies in the bathroom.

Her family does not mourn.

She never had one.

/

His death is dragged out; a camera zoomed in on his agony the entire time.

His father tries to turn the screen off but she stops him. They’ll know, she says, they’ll know if we don’t watch.

When an arrow finally, mercifully, ends his life, the screen blinks off.

His trophies gather dust on the wall.

//


End file.
